Poetry is gay.
You're gay.
You're all gay.
If you didn't wake up tomorrow,
The world would be a better place.

>>25136827
Although not his most famous, Anon's "Poetry Is Gay"(2026) is probably his best effort.
However even at his best, he falls shy as even a minor talent of the decade.
The first three lines, though true, can be disregarded entirely as it is simply bad prose.
The last two lines however show a touch of inspiration. The trochaic substitution in the second position of the fourth line is a risky, yet successful variation, because it is complimented by the strong (borderline spondaic) third foot keeping an interesting rhythm. The feminine ending thrown on the end would normally have thrown this entire line into chaos were it not for line five bringing the flourishes back home with a standard iambic beat.
Although these lines show that Anon has a functioning ear and a talent for posey, this very fact proves that he's gay and too retarded to know it.
In the end, the poem might have been good if Anon weren't such a retarded faggot.

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>>25136767
Thought of this poem by Jack Gilbert last night.
>Divorce
>Woke up suddenly thinking I heard crying.
>Rushed through the dark house.
>Stopped, remembering. Stood looking
>out at bright moonlight on concrete.
Strongly recommend Gilbert if any anons haven't read him / are looking to get into contemporary poetry, he's great. I need to get back into the habit of reading poetry. For a long while it was all I read. Need to revisit some old favs and try and pick up some new ones. Open to suggestions, keeping it broad on purpose

Why didn't (good) poetry make it into the 21st century?

>>25137021
it did, you're just not aware of it

Frogs at Judgement Day

The log they crowned as king
Grew sodden, lurched and sank;
An owl floats by on silent wing,
Dark water bubbles from the spring;
They invoke you from each bank.

At dawn you shall appear,
A gaunt red-legged crane,
You whom they know too well for fear,
Lunging your beak down like a spear
To fetch them home again.

Sufficiunt
Tecum,
Caryatis,
Domnia
Quina.

My left foot itches
Poets are straight bitches

>>25137035
if it did, it'd transmit.
it didn't propagate, thus it wasn't good enough.
don't blame our ears; blame the poets.

A Postcard from the Volcano

Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;

And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;

And least will guess that with our bones
We left much more, left what still is
The look of things, left what we felt

At what we saw. The spring clouds blow
Above the shuttered mansion-house,
Beyond our gate and the windy sky

Cries out a literate despair.
We knew for long the mansion's look
And what we said of it became

A part of what it is ... Children,
Still weaving budded aureoles,
Will speak our speech and never know,

Will say of the mansion that it seems
As if he that lived there left behind
A spirit storming in blank walls,

A dirty house in a gutted world,
A tatter of shadows peaked to white,
Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.

>>25137075
you can't name five 21st century poets of any kind that aren't Rupi Kaur/instapoets without googling
>that's because they're all bad
then you should be able to name 5 bad ones that aren't instapoets
>I haven't heard of any
then why should I trust that good 21st c poetry would make it to your ears if you don't know any poetry to begin with
>fine then name some
cd wright, ar ammons, alice notley, ws merwin, will alexander

>>25137087
Love Stevens.

>>25136963
You're so fucking gay you thought that was a poem.

Silly song for silly birds


Birdsong

How would it be
As a swallow upon a tree
Singing his birdsong
For you and me

He shan't wait for long
As he's finished his song
Watch him sail the blue
Not a care if he's wrong

Where will he be?
Who will he meet ?
Flapping his wings he
Stopped On a street

A child chases
And it's off to the races
Back in that blue high
Where children seldom cry

In the rain or in the sun
Does the swallow have his fun
And come night he ventures forth
As the blue he calls home had gone swarth

>>25136767
Here is a poem I wrote:

Long ago in an ancient town
Nestled within an Empire,
Was born a man who had a frown
And in his heart held a fire.
To the left, mountains, and to the right
Too, but he went on his way north
To the capital, where his gift of sight
Let him make art that was of worth.
His paintings mocked now. But back then,
His aesthetic sense was beyond your ken,
His paintings were filled with such raw power
That it would turn your mind to flour.
But there was a plot, and he was barred
From the city's artistic scene.
Forced to the Streets, he starved
Until the news made him keen.
Fighting was afoot, so he set out
To join the list, with heart aflame.
He saw his friends die, but he did not pout,
And his bravery set himself in fame.
He left that fight blind and brave,
Medals on his jacket grey,
But his country was about to be a slave,
Of those who seek others as prey.
He stood up, and spoke so loud,
That others felt instantly proud
Of their blood, and gave ovation,
That a man would stand for his nation.
So they elected him, and he started
To right the wrongs of the past years.
But a council met, and were startled
That this man met all of their fears.
They resolved to crush him now,
For wishing freedom from debt,
So they declared, though he wished peace,
And fought until Europe was dead.
Look at your world today,
And look inside history,
Are you told the true stories,
That allow you to be free?
You are told many lies,
Now is the time to rise,
Today we praise Adolf Hitler,
The greatest man of all, our Fuhrer.

>>25137090
Atticus
7SoulsDeep
Jansport Singapore

I like Thunder, Perfect Mind. Mostly because the last three lines read as a threat in context.

I AM HERE AND I WON'T LET YOU DIE
Jesus.

>>25137090
the onus is on you, not me.
I have other muses to attend to in this world...

i should kill myself with a sock
i should kill myself with a rock
i should kill myself with a cock

>>25137517
>the onus is on you, not me.
>>25137090
>fine then name some
>cd wright, ar ammons, alice notley, ws merwin, will alexander

When spring arrives,
If Iʾm already dead,
The flowers will flower in the same way
And the trees will not be less green than last spring.
Reality doesnʾt need me.

It makes me enormously happy
To think that my death is of no importance whatsoever.
If I knew that I would die tomorrow
And that spring was the day after tomorrow,
I would die happy, because spring was the day after tomorrow.
If that is its time, why should it come at some other time?
I like everything to be real and to be right,
And I like it that way because thatʾs how it would be even if I didnʾt like it.
And so, if I die now, Iʾll die happy,
Because everything is real and everything is right.

You can pray in Latin over my coffin, if you like.
If you like, you can sing and dance in a circle around it.
I have no preferences for when I can no longer have preferences.
What will be, when it is, is what it will be when it is.

Fernando Pessoa

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I hate this "le deep" MFA poetry so much, holy fuck. Soulless. Every line winking at itself everywhere.

How do I read the Aenid, is there some dactylic hexameter string music that I can listen to as a background.

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i wrote a poem about cambridge, boys

Socksford,
Boxford,
Hollyhocksford, doxxford,
Clocksford.
The slack of her smocksford
Shocksford.

Roadblocksford.
In the midst of a knocksford -
Landlocksford;
Foxford.

Of what state and stocksford
Our islands rise rocksford
From the sea, not fit for
Many flocksford of sheep.

Faith, have ye none?
When hell beckons thine name
Wilt thou be that faithful son?
Or wilt thou cower in shame?

Hark ye devils, and make no protest!
For the hour has come for ye to die
And let thy heart confess
March along into that fire, aye!

For He who Judges all hath come
Serve His will and have no fear
For the closing hour draws near
Hear Satan's beating red drum

Steel thy courage well
And let the blood make thy heart swell
With blood and steel shall we pay
All the sins and follies of our days

I thought to myself
Death to the word "I"
It is the ruin of poetry
I smugly agreed
So smart am I

>>25137075
would you like to buy an NFT?

>>25138034
what is the color of the boathouse at hereford?

>>25138034
but btw, i really enjoyed this
dont even care if youre taking the piss—
real nice n bouncy mouthfeel reading thru that

>>25138228
can you sell me a modern poem or not?

Black, you are my enemy
And I cannot get close to thee
Our life is ruled by enmity
And I can't weaken that

The only way that I can see
Is to hold you close to me
To love you for it's meant to be
I weaken your attack

Everything was lucked and downy
What was good was up from under
Until black, that awful tender
Came and popped my sense of wonder

All at once all eyes turned at him
Leaving me an unwatched body
And it sagged, my body's rib cage
Out from under ogler's study

Black was decomposing quickly
This was found offensive to me
His disrespect for life's proprieties
Made me scared he would destroy me

So I thought I'd try to cut him
Try to force him 'neath my level
The only way to equal to him
Would be hit him with a shovel

But to really rise above him
That would be the final evil
So instead I asked the sucker
If he'd care to see my rooms

And as a friend and as a comrade
And all the things that these implied
I made him leave what it was that he had
Used to keep us unallied

Now black and I we are together
Fairly just inseparable
And in the terriblest of weather
Our bonds are incorruptible

Black, you are my enemy
And I cannot get close to thee
Our life is ruled by enmity
And I can't weaken that

The only way that I can see
Is to hold you close to me
To love you for it's meant to be
I weaken your attack

>>25136767
Nothing goes the right way, it's eternity unending
Thorax aches, soul is rending
Granted these antennae to be aware of the despair
Oh! I am shedding my hair
Bite this verse on the green leaf; denoted nature's mistake
An insect can't catch a break
I will build myself a little home to lie and die in
One last wish: forgive my sin
This chrysalis - a monument to the above monarch
And caterpillar Petrarch

i wrote a sestina today and some strophes for me hybrid novel. what a fuckin headache


What is it I want most from true love?
Something sentimental like gentle words?
Or is it more concrete? Capable hands?
Finding form in the abstract isn't how
I'd envisioned something meant as ideal.
What a task I'd set forth for myself.

Perhaps this vague word is within myself.
I've carried solitude as my self-love.
This, to me, is the only thing ideal.
Maybe these are just some comforting words
That I've allowed to overtake just how
Quiet life is; ignoring yearning hands.

In my earnest tidings, poetry hands
Me insight that makes me question myself.
Why does this compel us to reflect? How
Is it that people who are bound by love
And law come to reduce them to just words?
What a sad corruption of the ideal!

And in the debasing of this ideal,
From divine to something wrought with cold hands,
From pure and felt to whisper-spoken words,
I've always found fear of this in myself.
I'll say, "Bravery is fear that's found love,"
And fear I must transcend but I beg, "How?"

Constant elevation? I can see how
High one can be brought up as an ideal.
Then is that what it means to fall in love?
To descend from mountain peaks into hands
And to see eye-to-eye, you and myself?
And then declare honest feelings through words?

To have another that will hold these words,
This is what always evades me. Just how
Could I deny this grace from myself?
My heart knows when I am seen as ideal.
Day will come as the sun rises. It hands
Me something that will take the shape of love.

I use my words to help form the ideal.
But then how can I hold onto my hands
That then keep myself from grasping real love?

>>25137039
I like this. It feels quite...grave, let us say.

The man with the key
Is talking to me
Dark in the shipyard
Dawn of the deed

The man I can’t see
Is singing for glee
Calm open waters
Under my feet

A man I must be
I offer no plea
Here are your shoes
Wrapped in concrete

Distant country
Land of the free
Lusting for power
A national creed

Sunup to me
As far as the trees
I’ll take my reward
The dark of the sea

>>25137021
Free verse. Not that there isn't good free verse, but now that it's popular all the amateurs too lazy to learn how to write decent poetry can just shit out some prose and throw in some random newlines and pretend it's free verse. Starting with metrical verse teaches one how to be careful in word choice and how to have an ear for good verse, but people prefer to skip that step nowadays.

Any poem dealing with the passing of time? It's killing me. I tried writing my own but I've zero talent.

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>>25139765

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>>25139628
>free verse
why can't modern people speak poetically then?

>>25139775

Thank you.

>>25139628
>go to local b&n to check out some free verse
>eliot, wasteland
>I've heard of this, guess I'll pick it up
>start walking out of the store
>alarms start beeping
>wtf is happening
>trans black barista grabs my arm
>sir you needa pay for that
>no clue what to say
>hold up the book and point to the cover
>i-its eliot...? Right?
>sir, you needa pay or leave now
>hand back the book and drive straight home
Guys wtf did I do wrong?

We're getting too old for this
let's do it again soon
doors always sliding shut
flipping ourselves off with a grin
making sure not to sell any
national monuments this time
the souvenir you left me
mostly intact.
shifting my weight now
only slightly
because you're well-versed in
decoding my lovely nonsense
I'm holding something violently caffeinated
squinting around and towards
your presence

Waiting for a locksmith
Illuminates the mistakes you have done
As you sit there watching cars pass by,
Your world has stopped,
Yet all others continue to fly

Waiting for a locksmith
Is a humanizing experience
Because what is mankind
If not seeing others prosper
And you remain behind?

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What's your favorite biography of a poet?
For me its Jonathan Bate's biography of Ted Hughes even tho I'm not a massive fan of Hughes' poems.

The sublime, never touched, only gazed at
You inevitably springing to mind
Light that shows how dark the corners are
I wanted more than could be
I wanted, Buddha said, is not the way
I know, it doesn't help
Heads made for resting on the shoulder
No matter the paths we take
I used to think a single chair
could hold an afternoon
An offered view to my eyes only
But lately, these wrong absences on either side of me.
I take walks, I linger a touch too long on pairs
Some of them must know exactly
Where my smile comes from.

In March and April facets of the sky
With dour water droop and graze the earth
As clouds like weaner calves and slake the trees.

The branches bloom. A mass of fuchsia light
Emerges from the black trunk like a train
Arrives out of a pitch-dark subway shaft.

>>25137039
It's allusive and mysterious (and "grave" like the other anon said) but I don't see what the five words at the end are getting at - is the crane the caryatid?

>>25137087
quite good, a couple awkward turns of phrase

>>25137111
sure whatever

>>25138177
it's ok, but you need to move away from rhyming

>>25142791
>it's ok, but you need to move away from rhyming
Simpleton take

>>25142894
You shouldn't write rhyming poetry until you're good at free verse, just like you shouldn't write short poetry until you're good at long poetry. The substance of the poem is fine (if a little tired) but it could be communicated more subtly with free verse.

>>25142894
Most of the "critiques" in these threads are from the same illiterate lowercase tranny.

>>25136767
New to poetry, what's a good a book that has a collection of poems for me to start?
>Inb4 Dr. Seuss
I'm a big boy actually

>>25142978
Free verse is prose.
Short poems are the only truly great poems.
The greatest poems in English are epigrams.

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Lord Dunsany. He spent the last 30 years of his life fighting against the modernist scum. The day Dunsany died, is the day poetry died. RIP

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>>25139765
>passing of time
incidentally, I have 14 or so books where Dun sany inscribed in verse. one of those is his second book, originally published in 1906 when he was in his early 20s, that aptly has to do with time. inscribed 3 years before his death

https://sacred-texts.com/neu/dun/tago/tago03.htm

>>25143065
Quest for Reality edited by Yvor Winters

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>>25136767

Among the flowers in her father’s stall,
his black, pretty daughter stood still,
her presence softening the air around her.

Each word she spoke fell into the earth.

For the love of Minerva, can someone tell me if it's pronounced "Yeets" or "Yates"

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Do NOT post your poetry here if it doesn’t rhyme

>>25143526
Its pronounced Yeats.

a large black dog lives in the corner of my mind.
he's a loyal companion - been with me all my life.
i've been wanting to put him down for the longest time

"if you were better things wouldn't be like this" he says.
"you can have everything you've ever wanted if only you were different."
i try my best to ignore him.

but every now and then - when my fruits turn sour and my wanting goes in vain,
his barks get louder and he bites my ear.
bleeding, i clutch it and shout; "i'm really going to kill you now."

i've tried listening to him, doing as he says
kept it up for a couple days, a couple months, a couple years.
i'm tired of growing.

maybe this time it will be different.

>>25144304
Based Gunn enjoyer

A specter invades a nightly retreat,
to a land of lost wants and thoughts incomplete.
Upon barren soil i stand, bewildered at the sight
of a pale apparition shining bright, and bold she stood
Towering against the ocean dark sky.

Her eyes beamed upon my soul
Inquiring on days of old
Of when her hands i held, her
Lips i felt, and soul i explored.

Her voice trickled down to my ears
Questioning decisions made o’er the years.
The siren’s song closed with a gong
Asking if I'm happy to be where i belong

To her i say “tis’ futile to lie
For you’ve seen the truth, in the depths of my eye
Why ponder upon a question, if the answer is known?
Tis’ not fair to torment a soul, foul as it is,
With questions such as those.
But here i present, for your ears to hear,
The sorrow of loss of a lover once held dear.”

On her ears befell my woes and fears
An empty vessel drowning in tears
My words came to a stop, and from her a faint smile
She gathered her thoughts then whispered, “sweet child,
Remember not what we had, nor what we could have been.
Seek instead for a fire within, for i see your ember fading,
Your mind waning, and your soul wandering.
I pray the Sun grant you strength to bear
A world lost to ambition and despair.”

Her Revelations Ceased, The Specter fades into the evanescent blue.
No more real than memory, yet eternally true.
A Fire grew to the west, on the lush green grass of the Prairie,
A glimmer darted into the Moon’s domain,
In rebellion against the night’s tyranny.

Who if not the paper tiger
which you uncerimoniously denied me
I got it anyway
Feeding everything but rain to it
Watching it not grow
I've steady hands, I don't crumple it
I paid a thousand quid for the permit
Then they said you don't need it
I swallowed the fact with great poise.
Now, to the zoo
Where they should be keeping
State scribes,
God willing.
I turn the no feeding signs upside down
Because in the end
Hate is unbecoming of the jungle

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>>25144337

>Her eyes beamed upon my soul
Inquiring on days of old
Of when her hands i held, her
Lips i felt, and soul i explored.

Excellent. Very musical.

https://voca.ro/19d7cd3sPcKD

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>>25138177

>Faith, have ye none?
When hell beckons thine name
Wilt thou be that faithful son?
Or wilt thou cower in shame?

Hark ye devils, and make no protest!
For the hour has come for ye to die
And let thy heart confess
March along into that fire, aye!

Foreboding imagery. The metre is a bit awkward, but with some study and industry, you will get there. Keep writing, anon.

https://voca.ro/1al2uyCDD0Kq

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>>25137111

>How would it be
As a swallow upon a tree
Singing his birdsong
For you and me

Where will he be?
Who will he meet ?
Flapping his wings

In the rain or in the sun

I liked your silly birdsong. Gave me nothing but beaming feelings.

For >you

https://voca.ro/1aBAWdVfBj8s

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Lamentation:

Gruel: Like an ape
Made this plate
I touch only beasts -- inhabit their tastes

Cruel like a snake
Vixens for the most?
With not even felicity -- in for grace?

Crying's one hen
Her rooster made her bed again
But this is exultation -- and rare

Most women are "fowls," still?
Foul'd by that against-nature
Science of despair -- yea, with beast I pair

Was not baseness set?
Then a machine the devil programm'd
Machine they are -- with creature smell

He stood unshaken, a voice in the storm
A man of conviction, a heart reborn
He spoke the truth when the cost was high
He lived for Jesus, unafraid to die
We are Charlie Kirk, we carry the flame
We'll fight for the Gospel, we'll honor his name
We are Charlie Kirk, his courage our own
Together unbroken, we'll make Heaven known
A husband, a father, his family held near
A home built on Scripture, on faith without fear
The world tried to silence, but his voice remains
In us it echoes, in Christ it sustains
We are Charlie Kirk, we carry the flame
We'll fight for the Gospel, we'll honor his name
We are Charlie Kirk, his courage our own
Together unbroken, we'll make Heaven known
The battle is raging, the darkness will fall
We rise with his spirit, we answer the call
The truth is eternal, the Cross is our guide
With God as our Captain, we march side by side
We are Charlie Kirk, we carry the flame
We'll fight for the Gospel, we'll honor his name
We are Charlie Kirk, his courage our own
Together unbroken, we'll make Heaven known
We are Charlie Kirk
Forever alive
We are Charlie Kirk
With God we will rise.

And tenderness descended from the sky in yellow petals,
and the air trembled with what could no longer belong to him.
and no one knew whether it was blessing or grief.

>>25145737
stop spamming your retarded fucking bullshit and kill yourself

From Berlin to you

I've been thinking these words
for more than ten years now
As there's no place surviving this yearning,
nor has the same heart survived this dream

[Long ago, I knew a language that you could understand.
I remember grasping at it while it faded away,
among other things, like the joy of longing,
dry flowers and lively poems]

The two seas between us
may never shrink, ever
And God knows I'm no traveler
Distance will never ease this feeling of mine, nor yours

[So it's done, and memories will be buried
under this tender sea of unlove.
Once I was afraid of this painful life
and the kind of man I had become.]

While I wander unnamed streets
I have only this left to say
No pain shall ever opaque the joy of a mother,
for you have once again chosen life.
And if her eyes are your eyes,
the world will have grown more beautiful and safer

With love, always.

>>25143218
>>25143205
fuck off elephantfag

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Does anyone have anything saved from that one anon who works in poetic fragments? I remember enjoying his work greatly but I lost the ones I saved. I only remember the final words from one, "and painted choirs sing". He had a substack too if anyone can link.

And an old poem, to contribute.

The black lidded
Box has its seat across
Me as I sit,
Holding the white saucer.

When your letter
Arrives, clad in the white
Envelope, met
With the red-hatched whiteness

Of the table,
I will place it inside
of the box made for it
And let it lie as

I sip coffee.
And I will never look
Inside the box,
Knowing you have spoken.

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>>25146681

I'm in the layered corners:
no one believes anymore.
What's behind a wood cry?
Not sorrow, not missing you.
I'd like to think it an abyssal boredom
The evergreen tree of wasted wisdom
Trying for shade, only making
An ant scoff.
We're not to stretch our arms
For the day
Have an attempt at the rhombus
Of clouds and rain.
Anything, just to prolong
The dream, which is really only
Limited agony

The female of the species. Musicality is king of poetry.
https://vocaroo.com/1dBwDg5eZUUI

>>25145811
this mf really writing love poems to his ex who gave birth to another man's child

cuckold final boss

>>25149590
Get rid of this fuckass font if you want people to take your work seriously.

>>25149639
silence zoomer

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>>25149639
You must take it seriously now.

>>25138347
yeah dude it comes with the nft

>>25143019
nah they arent

>>25149694
so is a poet's job to make money or art?
because the former got us into this mess and the latter is depleted.
people no longer speak poetically (mostly memetically now)

>>25149906
>the latter is depleted
English just makes it seem that way combined with the culture of faggots getting mad that you're doing it wrong if you do something new like make up a new kenning.
>Whaleroad is not a hecking real word
Yes it is faggots.

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>>25149968
Ok make poetic memes
>"Whaleroad"
better than that shit

>>25150004
>better than that shit
It's ancient and there has never been anything better than that. Skyscraper, völva, þyrla, file-tree, screenshot are some modern examples.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenning

>>25150138
great you discovered neologism are memes

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I like that ol' Charlie Chinaski

>>25136767
We need a new Caesar, to rise now,
The degenerates he will smash apart,
As a Roman Empire begins to allow
Greatness, a fire burns is his heart.
He worships emperors old and new,
He has the correct view
That we need great men to rule today,
For this we all shall pray,
That Roman Empire, eternal rise,
We need Hitler, again alive,
He was the greatest, we ever known,
Great men will create a new home.
Ave!

>>25150222
Absolutely braindead.

>>25150699
where's the lie?
are neologisms not memetic?
how do you think new words/ideas spread?
how does one use language to influence people to spread these new ideas?
like most, you speak of poetry but you have no concept of its nature. it's just "beautiful" to you like some pretty flower to a dumb mortal.

>>25150356
pity to the kings,
for in their seeming glory,
they make petty gods.

>>25150737
and you have to admit, the English were the best actors... all the other royalty acted like their royalty.
I think it had something to do with Shakespeare and King James I showcasing him to other royalty...

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>>25150743
"glamour" I think Robin Goodfellow would call it.

>>25150708
Seriously mentally disabled.

>>25150756
and still smarter than you.
faggot.

Colorized spoon, I sleep.
Sugary mirror, I get in.
It’s always about walking.
I'm sideways, you know it. It warms the shoulder.
Not the faintest of sound from
dripping like a weighty soul down the leaf
of nothing.
The fingers drum up
just about anything in the meantime.

>>25149590

Absolutely horrible. I hate it.
... It's as good as anything published in any poetry magazine in probably decades. (It's certainly in that style.)

These two things are not mutually contradictory.

>>25151550
Hey thanks. I'll take that for my first honest crack at pottery. Finding a style that's a bit more unique or interesting will come with time.

Muh bippa fo fi
Buppa po mo bidda
Cudda dippa so a sy
Nibba ho no didda

Thoughts?

>>25149590
>>25149689
you
are
gay

>>25136827
Gay are the words you use
Gay as the raindripped sky
Gay as the Gay Orb of the night
The name I choose to rechristen the Moon
A big ball of gay, an eternal reminder
The Orb in the sky
Lest we never forget

Has free-verse displaced the traditional metres of other European languages or has this disaster only befallen English?

what are some good intro to poetry books? I don't know anything about poetry

>>25152423
song lyrics.
music prose have surpassed poetry as a medium in modernity

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>>25151874
is scatspeak considered poetry?
what if I were to rhyme gibberish eloquently?

>>25152423
The Ode Less Traveled is good for learning to write poetry and understanding the mechanics of a poem. as someone who just started reading poetry one day I wish I'd started with this or something like
Anthology of the World's Best Poems selected by Edwin Markham is a good anthology that tries to cover as good poetry as possible. every anthology I've read since has taught me that most general poetry anthologies are arranged by people with poor taste. typically if you want a good reading experience it's easier to read a collection of a poet's work, most broad anthologies are ass

>>25152475
That's African-American Vernacular English, actually.

>>25152621
so gibberish

>>25152423
Honestly if you just want to start, find a poet you really like first. Just read through whatever. Penguin Book of English Verse is good, and is arranged by year of each poem's publication, without any other real categories, which is nice for getting an idea of the development of English verse as a whole. And it has a very decent selection, lots of names you might not otherwise easily know.

Poetic Meter and Poetic Form by Fussell is a fairly short look into the mechanics of poetry, and the most common forms. If you want to seriously look into poetry, and not just purvey it, I'd start with this sooner than later. This is probably a more scholarly take on the same material as The Ode Less Traveled (above), but I haven't read that one so who knows.

There's also a Norton anthology called The Making of a Poem, which traces the development of various forms (e.g. the balled, the elegy) throughout history. I like it a lot.

Also I'll second what >>25152489 says, reading a collection is more instructive than an anthology once you get your feet wet.

Hard by the lilied Nile I saw
A duskish river-dragon stretched along,
The brown habergeon of his limbs enamelled
With sanguine almandines and rainy pearl:
And on his back there lay a young one sleeping,
No bigger than a mouse; with eyes like beads,
And a small fragment of its speckled egg
Remaining on its harmless, pulpy snout;
A thing to laugh at, as it gaped to catch
The baulking merry flies. In the iron jaws
Of the great devil-beast, like a pale soul
Fluttering in rocky hell, lightsomely flew
A snowy trochilus, with roseate beak
Tearing the hairy leeches from his throat.

"A Crocodile", Thomas Lovell Beddoes

My poem:

Yea though you crawl through the drain
In the shower
I know the centipede shall get thee
And devour
And when I go downstairs to see in the morning
Hour
Forsaken carapaces around the drain
Of the shower

>>25152647
Or a chart-topping hit song.

>her: I heard you were into poetry, anon. recite me something right now

what do you go with?

Nocturne

Without fail, late evening
sets off the neighbour’s treacle of bluegrass,

The mosquito’s kingdom of cool
sweat & petroleum—

What unmanageable sadness
to be without you

& everything otherwise impeccable,
a shirring of fir, lake, haskap:

Compendium of ought
to feel all right.

Found a book in my book pile I never got around to reading, something like 700 pages of Percy Shelley and analysis of the texts. I have discovered that, A) I still like Ozymandias and B) I hate all other of Shelley's poetry. Even his abuse towards the russian czar was a little uninspired - 'er, look, napoleon fought on the battlefield but you let your generals do their jobs, you cowards'.

Anyway, suggestions for poems like ozymandias?

>>25154107
maybe I'm easily impressed by pretty combinations of words but this is good!

>>25154126
you don't like Ode to the West Wind?

IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

She is what makes you go on,
she is giving you strength,
but as the day approached dawn,
Chad's giving her his full length.

>>25153848
>poetry ad populum
kek

>>25154165.
Strangely, no.

I think I like Ozymandias because of splendid desolation had always been my jam. Hell, Quaerens Quem Devoret by Jean Leon Gerome remains my favourite painting mostly for the same reason.

>>25143205
Redpill me on Lord Dunsany's war against modernist scum

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Spring is behind, Summer ahead
And there are 10 off-topic threads
Through shitposts, to the final page
Where all the threads will autosage.
Bait and shitposts
Gets and HE
All for free
He does it all for
Free...

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Tell your friends and family you love them bros

Radiobiographia, not a village
zers doctor long beak and good pay
Sentinellum thanks, I sleep —
In your dream.
Shepishé velaand, miry mirror
like a sundial
or goorgling light
Sa vants and blessed
no roofs but love
Wantery boat in the town square.

>>25137952
I couldn't finish that. Good lord, free verse is so awful. Blank verse is acceptable in the hands of a very talented poet

>>25154107
this is beautiful

Hear me, Fungus, for I have news.
I have forgone the Simian's circadian rhythm, and my clock, ever in tune, has since been set to Mycelial Time.
The day's labor I accomplish thus, most of it after the sun departs, when it is quiet, temperate, and the air is humid.
At nightfall I heard the rooster's crow; as the blue hour came I basked in its glow, and I saw the misty forest beckoning, gloomy in her purple gown.
I have heeded her call, Fungus. Will you?

>>25154811
fug

>>25136767
Baa baa black sheep
have you any wool
Yes sir no sir
Three bags full

One for the master
One for the Dame
One for the little boy
Who lives down the lane

Amazing poem about niggers and slavery

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Let's talk about romanticism. For me, it's Ode to the West Wind by Shelley.

I'm neatly folded already
As a postcard from future selves
Edges bitten
By nostalgic teeth
Marked spots on the trail of time
Showing where flesh was spent
The unbound years as arrows
Towards new plains.

>>25154107

Probably the best poem I've seen in any of these threads, GG, printed and stored away.

>>25159452
They stole it from some online magazine called The Ex Puritan. It’s by Dominique Béchard.

Double Tap Strike

An owl stitched the night closed with its wing,
a fruit too heavy for the branch of breath,
its fire falling where she held her camera,
her voice unbroken in the shadow of iron.

>>25137147
This one is good but the paintings bit at the end of the first half is a little on the nose imo.

>>25137952
People complain about generative AI and then write whatever the hell this is.

>>25159500
>stole
What do you think this thread is for, anon? They didn't claim it was theirs!

>>25160345
When you post someone else’s poem, unless it’s an extremely well-known one that you could assume most people would be familiar with, you should credit the writer in your post.

>>25160364
While I personally would, I don't think it's egregious not to. Plus takes two seconds to search a line and see if it's by someone else (unless the poster is the same person :O ), which is what I and presumably you did. Agree to disagree I guess.

>>25160382
it's annoying for people to have to google a line from every poem that's posted to check if it's the poster's original work before responding. If you're sharing someone else's poem it takes two seconds to put the writer's name in your post; there's no excuse not to do it. Since these threads are used for sharing and critiquing original poetry, it's reasonable that people assume anything that's posted uncredited is original. Posting others' works uncredited, especially when they're obscure, is clearly misleading. You're pasting in the text of the poem anyway--leaving out the attribution is a deliberate and very annoying decision.

Sex: theatrics against wit.
Not two stones sliding
Not friction
No sparks to be made.
But mellow marble, yes
And neck promises
Traveling on silk ridges
Leaving poppies in their wake
Leaving us to wake
Tomorrow
In a grin of hair and fingers.

Variation on the Word Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.


-Margaret Atwood

In the sacred hush that gathers around her hands, drained of life and blood upon her chest,
I drink from grief and drift without anchor among the murmuring mourners.
She leaves a fire beyond the graveyard’s edge,
and I follow its smoke into a world
where memory and flame are one.

Her thighs my head to embrace,
My heart drums an unsteady pace
My love, my fire,
My soul desire –
Emily Dickinson sit on my face.

On Maiden heath in early march, A lamb is seeking shelter,
A northern gale through snowy wool, as sleet begins to pelt her.
Swirling clouds forewarn a storm, sky a blackened porter,
Little cloud, hugs the ground, and slips into the water.

A helpless cry, sounds o’er the moor, frantic stricken bleat,
none to answer that cold call, in terminal repeat.
Sole companion on the top, a withered sullen birch,
the peat-bog coiling at her feet, pulls more for every lurch.

Creeping ever up her limbs, the cold soaks in her coat,
Onwards, freezing reaches up and pinches at her throat.
The tree no more a lonely sight, wings in twos and fours,
Timpani enfeebled bleats, tip-tapping of the claws.

Just about her head above, the straining neck belies,
The waters pour into her mouth, drowning final cries.
The carrion swooping down, to claim her panicked eyes,
Swift, the tarn first covers up, then robs them of their prize.

>>25138204
big fan of this as someone who feels they write too often in the first person.

Boner in supermarket. a short poem

A bonnre hath plagued me
Concupiscence seizes the hypothalamus
Yuck, disgusting! exclaimed he.
My present situation, calamitous.

In the winter of my 30th, my parents did depart.
All the memories of their life couldn’t stir my heart,
For days on end I couldn’t move, frozen in my grief,
Neither friend nor relative could offer me relief.

Then I awoke upon the day, to say my last goodbyes,
Under stones, shared names and dates, my dear family lies.
Black-clad masses shuffled out, their service duly done.
But what for is a funeral, without a dose of fun?

Booming out across the graves, a furious eruption!
The tearful party stop and stare at the interruption,
One hand on the wheel, seat in full reclining.
Screeching donuts at the gate, in my silver lining.

>>25161750
Very sweet, true story I presume?

>>25161752
entirely fictional, although i'm not 30 yet so there's time

What is the lowest form of poetry?
What is the highest form of poetry?
I don’t really value haiku but there’s obviously worse out there.

>>25161480
As usual, this is garbage. Stop fucking posting.

By Chris Martin - Something Just Like This

I've been reading books of old, the legends and the myth
Of Achilles and his gold, Hercules and his gifts
Spider-Man's control, and Batman with his fists
And clearly I don't see myself upon that list

>>25162121
lol, that’s harsh, aren’t you gonna give him any tips on how to improve?

Now he kneels among hours that smell of rust and opened tombs,
and the wind moves over him like the breath of Ishtar,
indifferent, as though grief were a town already emptied for her feast.

He raises his face, poor child of dust, and pleads:
Carry me as you carry the risen multitudes,
as you gather the dead who crowd the thresholds,
as fire is hidden in the marrow of stories
that hunger and return to eat the living.

>>25162596
Bad, as usual.

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>>25137952
>Did she just fucked him and pretended to like it?! LMAO

Lard arse fuming at the notion of a fire drill
Inflammable situation, who’d you think I’ll let the fire kill?
Wobbling around the first sign of a commotion
I’m first out the door, Darwinian promotion.

If black, send it back,
If brown, flush it down,
If white, "where''s the kike?"

An evening with friends:
here, the table's sacred geometry -
chaos, and stolen cutlery.
But it's an altar tonight
where time bends, if just this once.
We pretend not to notice
the emphasis of incidental brushing.
The waiter winks, we nod back.
I'm fixed on the way
your eyes are telling their own story:
being glad to be here too,
the silent acknowledgment.
Now the table groans from
shared nostalgia
Hair, streaked with tentative winter.
Everything slips away, eventually -
like old pages.
We were not sure about what we
were really building.
Now, arson-adjacent installations
are cause for laughter
the perpetually jet-lagged bags
a knowing sigh.
One of us is going to bury his face
in the tiramisu soon
a theatrical reply to Janette
still insisting on the validity of
her 2009 outburst.

>>25161750
good stuff. Some of the words need refining for smoother flow, and the third stanza could do better if it were split into a 3rd and forth. But all around good stuff.

>>25162121
>>25163032

/lit/ is a place of naysayers
Hung by a clique of gay players
Each day a post of poems is asked
And sway do only the instigators

I found this place of gleaming screen
Most raw of which a man finds seen
In lonesome crave of commendation
But found at best some pitiful obscene

There boys would write their hopes and lies
Their distanced long for concubines
No truth would come from any (you)
Just mindless dribble of men denied

But in back of this place I still can see
Some cautious forms of elegy
Where truth can split from endless lust
And root in dust a truth like seam

To those who troll I do say hush
Their lives are about as worth as much
They’ll laugh and jeer and call me a fag
As their works can never grant them rush

So rage, anon, behind your screen,
The loneliest court that's ever been
No verse of yours will warm a bed,
Just archives full of the lame unseen.

>>25161750
Kekworthy. Doe I was hoping the furious eruption would be the fellow having a glorious coom all over his mother's fresh grave.

>>25159452
Barf. It's the usual MFA slop. If you like that you are in for a 'treat', as there are literally thousands of that worthless sludge produced by useless (not the good, artistic kind) faggots each year.

>>25154170
I lorve it. The rhythm could be better, I think, but still. So true to life now...

>>25165637

Fag.

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jesus fucking christ
What irks me the most is the people celebrating this crap

>>25167599
I don’t see the problem, chud. She’s the moon.

th’art a fart
In which th’ sound
Warms mine heart
Through th’ mound

'Tis most sublime
To olfactorise
Th’ scent of thyme
From behind mine eyes

Though to you
It will reek of poo
I say nay
Live in my head for a day.

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Every single Scots ballad is just:
>Hello Mither, I'm home from me huntin' trip.
>Hello, me bonnie lad. Wait a second, are you fuckin' dyin'?
>Aye, I murdered me father and got stabbed by me true love while I was out, so I did.
>Oh, okay. Can I have yer cows?

>>25168235
The scots get it

Here's an example from
A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unsweetened stone.

Now let my bed be hard
No care take I;
I'll make my joy like this
Small Butterfly;
Whose happy heart has power
To make a stone a flower.

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>>25168747
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

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>>25168751
When primroses are out in Spring,
And small, blue violets come between;
When merry birds sing on boughs green,
And rills, as soon as born, must sing;

When butterflies will make side-leaps,
As though escaped from Nature’s hand
Ere perfect quite; and bees will stand
Upon their heads in fragrant deeps;

When small clouds are so silvery white
Each seems a broken rimmed moon—
When such things are, this world too soon,
For me, doth wear the veil of night.

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PUBLICO, EN EL FORO, UN POEMA;

POEMA FRUTO DE MI ESFUERZO;

MI ESFUERZO FUERTE DE POETA;

DE POETA QUE HACE VERSOS;

VERSOS PARA QUE DIOS LOS LEA.


EN LA PLAZA SACO MI VERGA:

LO MEJOR DE MÍ AL VIENTO ORDEÑO.

>>25168823
milky

>>25136767
Can you give me a chart to learn poetry, anons?
I wrote this poem a couple of years ago, but didn't learn the fundamentals or stick to it.
https://warosu.org/lit/thread/20849327#p20849393

Trying poetry for the first time in a while.

Darkened skies shriek their song throughout the endless gale
My tired eyes gaze upon the shifting sea of pale
Colors blend and shimmer ‘cross the ever rolling plain
Yet I fear the end is dimmer than any man could deign


Any tips or feedback would be well appreciated. I feel like the last line is a bit long and unwieldy. Think a comma right after the dimmer could add some pause to give that last bit some more punch? I'm still unclear on how to properly use punctuation in poetry.